


Teen!Dean

by EvilPrincessKeri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexual Male Character, F/M, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-26 04:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20735891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilPrincessKeri/pseuds/EvilPrincessKeri
Summary: A somewhat sprawling exploration of Dean Winchester as a teen.   It takes place in the cannon timeline sometime between the Episodes Bad Boys (9.7) and After School Special (4.13).  Dean is 17 and working on figuring out who he is in the context of high school and hunting.





	1. Arrival

The Impala rumbled as she slowed, and turned onto the gravel drive. Sam was passed out in the back, curled up on the wide bench seat. Dean had tossed a blanket over the kid and crawled over the seat to the front about three hours ago. It wasn’t as easy to do as it had been even six months ago. There was a trick to fitting his shoulders through the narrow gap now, when before he would simply slither through easily enough. In another month he’d have to figure out how to keep Sam’s giant head from making his leg fall asleep.    
  
Dean’s lashes fluttered for only a moment when they made the turn and got a glimpse of where they were headed – Singer Auto Salvage. He made an effort not to grind his teeth; he knew his father would see the movement of his jaw and it would give away his wakefulness. He knew his father well enough to know that he would be more forthcoming with Bobby if he thought his boys couldn’t hear him. 

John pulled the Impala to a stop a short distance from his old friend’s front door; well out of range of any buckshot that might be headed his way. Dean heard the driver’s side door creak open, and heard his father shut it gently so it barely latched. Even with the door shut tightly it would have been hard  **not ** to clearly hear the ensuing shouting match. Bobby sure had a way with words; his vocabulary of obscenities was nothing short of impressive. 

The shouting all ended when John roared “Bobby! There is no one else I can trust to watch out for my boys if something happens to me!” 

Now the gentle purr of the Impala’s idling engine obscured the details of the conversation between the two men. John got back into the car, slamming the door angrily. Without preamble he rumbled “You and Sammy are going to stay with Bobby Singer for a while.” 

Now Dean did grind his teeth. His father knew he’d been awake the whole time. He rolled his shoulders in a shrug and stretched his neck before meeting his father’s gaze. “How long is a while?” 

“I don’t know Dean, as long as it takes. Go on in.” 

Dean knew better than to argue with his father at the best of times, much less when he was clearly in a ‘mission’ mind set. He opened his door, shouldering his duffel. He opened the back door and grabbed Sam’s duffel as well. “Hey, Shorty, we’re here.” 

Sam groggily sat up in the back seat; a tangle of gangly elbows and knees. “Wha… where’s here?” 

“Bobby’s. C’mon, wouldn’t you rather sleep in a bed tonight?” 

Sam slid out of the back seat, and stumbled groggily toward the lights of the front porch. He didn’t notice that the rumble of the Impala never shut off. He didn’t notice the absence of their father behind them, but Dean did. When he got up onto the porch Bobby snagged Sam’s bag from his hands and ushered them inside. Not before Dean looked back to see the Impala retreating away down the long gravel drive – back out into the night. Part of him was furious with his father that he was being left behind – he was 17 and a competent Hunter in his own right. After all hadn’t he been doing this almost as long as his dad?

Bobby stopped and looked back. “Close the door, would’ja. You’re letting in the flies.” 

Dean made an effort not to roll his eyes while he shut the door. It was still far too cold for flies. He followed Bobby and Sam up the stairs. There was only one guest room and it only had one bed, so Dean usually sacked out on the floor. “Woah!” Sam said, waking from his sleepy stupor a bit. He stopped right in the doorway and Dean nearly bowled the scrawny kid over. 

Dean followed Sam’s gaze and blinked Bunk beds had appeared where the rickety twin used to be. Nice wooden ones. They looked handmade. Dean shot a glance to Bobby “Did you make those?” 

Bobby shrugged “I had a free weekend.” 

“TOP BUNK!” Sam cried already halfway up the ladder. Which suited Dean just fine, because the bottom bed was larger than the top one – what were they called? Not quite a queen… a full. 

“Oh fine. For tonight.” He said with a long suffering sigh and dropped his duffel at the foot of the bed. 

Bobby stepped into the room just enough to hand him Sam’s bag. “Get some rest. We’ll talk it over in the morning.” 

“Where did he go, Bobby?” Dean demanded

“Too late to do anything about it tonight, kid. Get some sleep.” 

Dean hung Sam’s duffel off the end of the top bunk and shrugged out of his jacket. Sam was already sprawled out on his stomach, spread eagle and snoring… and fully dressed. So, after tossing his jacket over a hook on the back of the door he unlaced his brother’s boots and pulled them off. The kid wore a men’s size 12 already. It was like he had ski’s attached to his chicken legs. Dean actively feared the growth spurt that was coming; it was going to be epic. 

After dropping Sam’s shoes near the door he sat on the edge of the bottom bunk and pulled his own off. He was tired from the drive, but his mind whirled with possibilities. Dad only left them behind when he went on exceptionally dangerous hunts or when he had a lead on the thing that had taken his mom. 

He stripped down to his boxers and flopped down on top of the covers. It was still damned cold in South Dakota in February, or he would have gotten up to pace. Instead he wriggled under the thick blankets. He huffed out a sigh again, blinked once, and it was morning. 


	2. Too Cool For School

Dean slouched back in the stupid chair-desk combo, his legs splayed wide into the aisle. Blocking the aisle wasn’t an issue since he was parked in the back corner of the room as far from any doors or windows as one could get in the cramped, crowded room; that’s what a name like Winchester got you in the public school system. 

At least no one could sneak up behind him. He snorted in amusement at the thought. One of the other kids in the class turned around to look at him with eyes wide as a frightened rabbit and then… noisily shushed him. Dean blinked twice in absolute bafflement. ‘Some people’s children,’ he thought and waved a hand at the kid to turn back around. 

These were only two of the many reasons Dean hated being in school; this was not his world. He was a Hunter, and some damned piece of paper wasn’t going to help him be better at hunting. Sam was great at it, all the memorization and dry textbooks were right up the kid’s alley. He just soaked it in like a sponge. Dean, on the other hand, had tested straight into remedial everything. At the moment he was sitting through a Substitute explaining the deep meaning and symbolism behind Piggy’s broken glasses. Apparently, they symbolized the breakdown of societal structure and common courtesy; which seemed like a overwrought interpretation. 

Without the preamble of raising his hand Dean said “Couldn’t it just symbolize that kids are dicks?” 

The stout middle-aged woman peered over her glasses and squinted at him for a moment, then made a show of consulting the seating chart before saying “Mr. Winchester, we raise our hands to participate in my classroom.” 

“Sure.” He snorted “We follow the rules to a T when discussing a book about anarchy, there’s no irony there at all.” 

“There is no call to be  _ snide _ , Mr. Winchester.” 

“Mr. Winchester is my father. My name is Dean, and I’ve got better things to do if you’re ready to kick me out of class already.” 

“No, you can certainly stay right where you are, and we’ll give your father a call after class, shall we?” 

Dean snorted. It had been more than two weeks since his father had dropped them at Bobby’s place and they hadn’t heard word one from him. “Good luck with that,” he grumbled, but dropped the argument. He held up his hands like he would if a gun were pointed at him to forestall any further arguing and slouched down further in his chair, as if defeated. 

He might be the very picture of teenage rebellion, wearing his leather jacket and ripped jeans, but he could see this interaction for what it was. The power-play was pretty transparent but he was unmotivated to challenge her authority. Besides, it was only second period and Auto Shop was up next. He could suck up 20 more minutes of this biddy spoon feeding these kids a comfortable version of reality for that long. 

He tried not to watch the clock; which of course was futile. The droning monologue about the symbolism of Golding’s seminal work continued; she touched on the dangers of technological advancement as represented by the fire, and laid out clearly how the island symbolised paradise or eden; and talked a lot about the value of order and societal strictures. Dean figured that was all valuable information for normal teenagers to have - he supposed that knowing that there were rules, and order, and expectations for behavior in the world might have been comforting to a normal kid. But, he wasn’t normal and he had heard it all before, at another school, in another remedial English Lit class. It. Was. Mind. Numbing. 

He forcibly yanked his eyes away from the clock, shifting in his seat so he was sitting in a position where he couldn’t watch the second hand tick, tick, tick along at a snail's pace. This school wasn’t too bad, he’d definitely been in worse ones. He had considered going out for the wrestling team, but, it was the first week of March and the season was almost over, so there was no point. He missed the the team back in Hurleyville; to be honest, he missed a lot about Hurleyville. But Roosevelt High wasn’t so bad. 

When the bell rang Dean snatched up his backpack and and headed for the door, but the substitute stopped him. “We’ll just give your Dad a call, shall we?” 

Dean hitched his bag up onto his shoulder “He’s out of town. We’re staying with Bobby Singer.” 

She gave him a suspicious glance. “Well, we’ll call him then.” 

Dean did his best not to roll his eyes. “Sure, you can call him. But you’re going to have to call down to Mr. Nelson and let him know I’m going to be late.” 

She pursed her lips in a held his gaze for a few extra moments before she grudgingly said “Oh, fine, go on then.” 

He took off with a purposeful pace across the building; headed toward the Garage Annex. To get there he had to cut across most of the building, the quickest route he’d found was through the cafeteria but it was locked until 4th period, and picking the lock didn’t save time - he’d tried it, so, he went around. The air was crisp and cold. He was glad to be wearing his layers and leather jacket, even for the short trip across the courtyard. 

Once inside though, he stripped off the jacket, as well as his outer flannel until he was down to just the long sleeved thermal undershirt he was wearing. He dropped his backpack and the rest on a bench near a seriously battered ‘89 Ford Thunderbird. There was already a pair of legs sticking out from under it so he crouched down, pushing up his sleeves as he did. “Hey man, how’s it going down there?” 

The kid underneath rolled out and looked up at Dean; he had hispanic and native heritage with long limbs and a fresh, sunny face. His name was Jorge, and certain things about him reminded him of Sam. He was ernest and forthright and talked like the guy from those old Micro Machines commercials. The kid rattled off the details of what he had been working on and Dean nodded along and then, as he had learned to do, gave himself a minute to just absorb all that information before he responded. They’d both been stumped by this particular problem for almost a whole week but neither of them was ready to ask for help yet. So, they took turns tackling it and working through different solutions while the other one made progress in other areas of the rebuild. 

Today it was Dean’s turn to make some progress on another area; so he grabbed a pair of coveralls and moved around to the front of the car where the hood was already propped open and dug into the work that needed doing there. He found clarity in this kind of work, like he did whenever he was working with his hands, a kind of focus he rarely found outside of a hunt. The engine was a puzzle that could be solved, broken pieces repaired or replaced, and the whole thing could almost always be fixed. 

Unfortunately, time  _ does _ fly when you’re having fun. Auto Shop was a double period, and still, it was always over too quickly. Mr. Nelson dropped by after the first bell to check on the progress the pair was making. Dean tried no to laugh when Jorge rapid fired questions that skirted around the issue they were having, not yet ready to admit defeat, but clearly stumped. It was obvious to Dean that Nelson knew they were stuck, but wasn’t going to push the issue. So he gave the Shop teacher a rundown on what he was working on and Nelson offered a few suggestions, which Dean was glad to hear, before getting back to work.

When the second bell rang Dean offered a hand up to Jorge and passed the kid a rag to wipe his hands. “Any luck?,” he asked. 

Jorge ran through everything he had tried, all the small successes and the new problems he had discovered. Dean nodded, fairly sure they were going to need to ask for help, but it could wait until Monday. They parted ways and Dean went in search of lunch. 


	3. The More You Know...

The Cafeteria was, like most large open spaces, largely indefensible. The room was large and rectangular; one of the two long walls was essentially a bank of doors, some propped open others shut that all lead to the main T intersection of the school. The opposing long wall was full of big picture windows with several sets of double doors that lead out to an open courtyard and a portion of the parking lot. The doors looked like they might stop a bullet - with chicken wire woven between the layers of the glass; but the big picture windows were just regular glass, which seemed to defeat the point of the doors. Of the two shorter walls one was taken up by the lunch line and the kitchen, and the far side of the room was a simple brick wall. 

Large round tables and picnic style rectangle tables littered the area between two rows of pillars. The pillars might provide some incidental cover, but the large rectangular room was otherwise a totally open space. It was obvious that the tables had been placed in neat rows at the beginning of the year, but each table had drifted or been shifted like leaves floating on the surface of a pond until there was no longer any pattern to it at all. 

Dean shook his head as the poetic turn of phrase derailed his train of thought. He stepped up to the lunch lady cashier, flashed her a smirk and a wink and swiped his card then made his way to the far side of the cafeteria to find a seat at a table near that big, blank, brick wall. 

He dropped his tray at one of the picnic style tables at the opposite end from 3 boys who sat chatting and eating. Their conversation stopped as he sat down, and the looks they gave him were a mix of confusion and fear. Dean quirked a half smile at them and lifted his chin in greeting as he dropped onto the end of the bench. He knew putting the frosh at ease was out of the question so he opted for aloofness instead of charm. He picked up the sloppy joe off his tray and dove into it while he turned his attention, pointedly, to the rest of the Cafeteria. After a few minutes of silent vigilance by the frosh kids they started back into their conversation again, something about a movie set in Fargo. It sounded dull so he tuned it out easily. 

As he inhaled his lunch an argument a few tables away near the windows caught his attention. He shifted in his seat so he could watch it better; sometimes these kids were better than TV. One of the football jocks slammed his hand down on the table, then pointed an accusing finger at the girl sitting next to him. She knocked his hand aside and leaned in close to yell right back at him. Dean’s snorted as she aggressively poked a finger into his shoulder joint; that shit hurt. 

The dude shoved his chair back and stood up, continuing to shout down at her. He was a thick-necked football jock, with broad shoulders, and a predictably short temper. Dean wondered briefly if he was juicing; it would explain the unreasonable amount of muscle on an 18 year old kid and the short temper. He spread his arms wide and shouted down at her. There was part of Dean’s mind that braced for him to bring one of his hands down to smack her. 

He said something that triggered a response and she shot up out of her chair and stood toe to toe with him. The girl was petite, about half a foot shorter than the dude, but athletic. He could see plenty of … muscle tone… in the outfit she was wearing. She wore an argyle sweater-vest over a skin tight black turtleneck, a short black skirt, and a pair of chunky low-heeled boots. Even though he wasn’t far away, the specifics of what they were saying were lost in the din of the conversations of 200 other people. Still, whatever was being said was making people nervous enough that kids from nearby tables got up to move away from the explosion of teen hormones. 

Dean was enjoying the spectacle of the girl screaming right in his face, up until she pointed a finger at him, not an inch from his face and the dude grabbed hold of her wrist and gave her a solid yank, making her stumble to the side momentarily. Dean was halfway out of his seat when she backhanded the dude with her free hand, using a closed fist right across the bridge of his nose. 

Dean winced as she didn’t stop there; she brought a knee up to his groin then stomped the same foot down on the insole of his foot, wrenched her arm free and aimed both fists straight into his gut knocking the air out of him. The poor bastard crumpled to the floor like a deflated balloon. She stepped back amidst shocked gasps from the table, grabbed her purse and did a pretty good job of walking calmly to the nearest door. 

Dean shoved pre-packaged food into his pockets and hopped up to follow her, at a discrete distance. He snatched a cold soda off someone’s tray on his way by. When he got to the T intersection he glanced down each of the three hallways, shrugged and turned right. A little ways down the hallway he found her in an offshoot hallway, leaning against a bank of lockers. He could see tears welling in her eyes, but also saw the stubborn, angry set of her mouth. So, he took a shot. “That was frickin’ awesome.” 

Her head shot up and her carmel colored eyes pinned him with angry little daggers. He flashed his most charming smile “It was smart to come across back handed that way, you’re less likely to break your fingers that way.” 

She just stared at him in disbelief. Dean remembered the cold soda can he held in his hand and offered it to her “But, if your hand is sore or it feels like you did break something you should ice it. I’m Dean.”

She wrinkled her nose and relaxed a bit. “Jenika. Did you follow me out here like some kinda weirdo?” 

“More like a charming, concerned citizen. Just here to help ma’am.” He smirked a little more and gave her a playful salute. 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. The action gave her a moment to look away, and blink away the tears she’d been holding back. Now she did press the cold can of soda to the back of her knuckles “Whatever, I don’t need your help.” 

“Obviously. So… I guess I’m gonna… go.” Dean rocked back on his heels and gestured down the hall behind him. 

“You know a lot about fighting?” She asked, hurriedly, before he could go.

“Uh. Yeah, a bit.” Dean shrugged and turned the question around “Where’d you learn to do that?” 

“Oh, the Sheriff has one Deputy Mills running this Girl Power Self Defense program thing every six months. My dad makes me and my sisters all go, every stupid time.” Jenika said. 

“Smart. Looks like it paid off. Now I know who to come to if someone tries to steal my lunch money.” The bell rang, and, kids poured into the hall like sand through an hourglass. 

Jenika shouldered her purse a little more securely and said “I, uh, gotta get to class. See you around?” 

Dean nodded “I’m trapped here just like everyone else.” 

Jenika pushed off from the wall and turned away to head down the hallway, before she’d gone two steps she turned and said “I’ve got practice after school, in the gym, but if you want to hang out after… that’d be cool.” 


	4. Ground Rules

Dean climbed the bleacher stairs, up past the group of other kids watching the various practices. There was basketball happening on the court, though it didn’t look like the team was particularly skilled. But, between the court and the bleachers, there were cheerleaders. Dean quirked a smile and leaned back to enjoy the show. 

It wasn’t a huge team. Eleven members; eight girls and three guys. Dean couldn’t remember ever having been to a school with a co-ed squad before. They were pretty good; the girls got airborne a lot. He picked Jenika out quickly and after a few minutes she shot him a brilliant smile to acknowledge that she saw him too. Dean leaned forward, propping his forearms on his thighs to enjoy the show she was putting on for him. 

Another 30, very enjoyable, minutes passed before practice seemed to break up. When it did Dean sauntered down the stairs toward the team. Jenika stood with three of the other girls and one of the guys, chatting and drinking water. He watched her turn her attention to the guy; who was tall, blonde and athletic but lanky rather than muscular. His face was soft around the edges but with sharp, wary blue eyes. There was a nervous quality to him as he talked with Jenika, but she didn’t seem to notice. He nodded, reluctantly, to something she said and she threw herself at him bodily. He caught her in a hug, though he still looked wary and uncomfortable; more so when his eyes met Dean’s. 

The boy fairly shoved Jenika away, grabbed his bag and turned to leave just as Dean was walking up. Dean furrowed his brow, frowning after the boy. But Jenika put her hand on his chest “I didn’t think you’d show up. What do you got going today?”    
  
Her smile was brilliant and Sioux Falls was positively boring, so he had nothing planned. He shrugged, his lips pursing slightly. “Nuthin, I guess.” 

Dean went with her to a pizza shop nearby. They ate greasy pizza and talked about nothing much. She didn’t like the name, Jenika, it was a family name - her grandmother’s name - and she hated the association with age it had. She really prefered to be called Jenna. She had two younger sisters, was a Junior this year and was pretty sure she was going to be Captain of the squad next year. 

She didn’t want to talk about her fight earlier in the day; but Dean could be convincing. They left the pizza place to go for a drive in the battered old Trans Am that Bobby had lent him and as they wound their way lazily through neighborhoods toward Jenna’s house she explained about Josh. 

“Look, I took an oath.” She started off, touching one of the dainty little rings on her finger.    
  
Dean shrugged, and kept driving, doing his best to stay less than 10 over the speed limit. “Okay, so?” 

“A chastity oath. And Josh KNEW that. Everyone knows that.” She brushed her hair over her shoulder in a manner he was sure she thought was haughty. “I’m a virgin.” 

Dean choked a bit, “A what now?” 

“Oh, not like that. I’m not a prude. I mean, I figure, what better way to punish Josh than to move on to someone better.” She gave him a wide smile. 

Dean gave her a sideways glance. “Well, at least you’re honest.” 

Jenna brightened her smile even more. “Yes, I’m very honest. I’m glad you like that.” She paused and pulled a leg up under her on the seat so she could turn and face him. She licked her lips, slowly before asking “What  _ else _ do you like?” 

Dean pulled the car over on a fairly empty street and parked. He turned to face her as best he could and tilted his head to the side “It  _ feels _ like you’re trying to… I don’t know… seduce me. Gotta say, I enjoy a good seduction.” 

She reached out and laid her hand boldy on his thigh, and flexed her fingers. “Good. So… I might still get back together with Josh… it’s a whole thing. But you’re cute and we have absolutely  _ nothing _ to talk about. Can we just… not talk?” 

Dean felt himself react to the hand sliding up his thigh and glanced down at her hand. He bit his bottom lip and looked up at her. He brushed his fingertips along the length of her jaw, and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “Let me get this straight... you took a chastity oath but… still want to have what? Revenge sex? To spite your boyfriend? That’s… messed up.” 

“No. Like… not sex! I’m a virgin. And I’m going to stay one.” She sat up primly and folded her hands in her lap. 

Now Dean was truly confused. “Okay, then what?” 

“Oh, pretty much anything else. As long as it’s not sex.” She blinked in complete sincerity and, at Dean’s obvious skepticism she said “Look. I made this promise in sixth grade. I was a  _ child _ and I had no idea what I was committing to, but, for right now it still feels right to keep that oath. And  _ Josh _ is a dumbass who can’t seem to get that. He just keeps… you know what. Never. Mind.” She shoved Dean’s hand away from her face and crossed her arms over her chest. 

Dean sat back in his seat, hands on the wheel and gave the situation some thought. After a long moment of silence he shrugged and said “I’m down. We can do whatever, go as far as you want or stop whenever, that’s cool. But I’m not a piece of meat, and I’m definitely not down for any chick-flick drama.” 

She slid a sly look and nodded “So, friends with benefits then?” 

“Just benefits. We don’t even need to be friends.” 

“My parents won’t be home tonight until after ten.” 


	5. Puzzle Pieces

Dean felt her hands slide around his waist, inside his leather jacket, and for a brief moment fear jolted through him that she’d find the gun in his waistband. But there was no gun. Bobby wouldn’t let him take them out of the house. Jenika bit his lower lip and leaned back with it still caught between her teeth. It hurt, and he wasn’t sure he liked it, but he wasn’t sure he didn’t like it either. “Deaaan…” she groused, “you’re distracted again…” 

“Yeah, well, you’re distracting.” He said offhandedly; it was a stock answer at this point. The two of them had been hooking up pretty consistently after school for almost two weeks now, and he kept telling himself that it was worth it; the blow-jobs alone were worth it. But he was starting to find parts of it less fun. 

She giggled in response, as though he hadn’t used that line five times this week alone. Her fingers went to his belt and deftly started to unfasten it. He shrugged out of his jacket and overshirt, tossing them to land in the big, pink, fluffy chair in front of her vanity. Dean wondered, again, where her parents went to so often - because they were gone a lot. He guessed that this was how rich suburbian parents abandoned their kids. 

He didn’t get a lot of time to wonder about it though, as her cold little fingers wrapped around his semi-hard cock. His breath caught, at the cold, but as usual she took it as a sign of his arousal and giggled again. She giggled a lot. He picked her up, and tossed her onto the bed behind him, then crawled up along her body. 

Dropping kisses on her thighs, he pushed her skirt up to bunch around her waist. Lifting his chin so he could meet her eyes, his mouth hovered over the lacy pink triangle of fabric at the apex of her thighs. She bit her bottom lip in an exaggerated show of desire. He dropped a kiss on top of that fabric, and slide further up to kiss her belly. He pushed the sweater she wore up and over her head, as he kissed up to take one of her nipples between his teeth. She moaned and twisted under him, her hips lifting to brush against his exposed cock. He moved his hands down to her hips, to keep them steady and used only his mouth to wet, and lower the top hem of her bra, exposing the nipple he was suckling to the air. 

Her fingers slid through his hair, clutching at the short cropped hairs at the back of his neck while he settled himself between her legs, only the thin fabric of her panties between the two of them. She gasped at the sensation and went still under him. He licked his lips, maintaining eye contact. She gasped “Dean….” 

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” He rubbed himself against her mound again, his erection fully hard now. 

She pushed at his shoulder, and he rolled with it, onto his back. Straddling his hips, her skirt around her waist, she did that wonderful female contortionist trick and removed her bra. He laid back and admired the gorgeous teardrop shape of her breasts, and the way her nipples hardened into tiny, perky little pink points. As soon as she tossed her bra away she sank down so her weight was on his hips, and, began to rock and grind against his cock. 

Reaching for her breasts, Dean began to knead them for his pleasure but also to toy with her nipples. She gasped and groaned and squirmed at every touch of them, and while her voice was annoying, her pleasure was exquisite. He felt the heat between her legs dampen her panties and he slid one hand down her body and inside the top hem of them, over the smooth mound. She shaved down there, it was always weird, but hot. He dipped his middle finger in between her lips and she stilled and moaned. He pushed his fingers in further, finding the little bud of her clit and flicking over it. 

Her hand, warm now, wrapped aggressively around his cock. She moved her hand up and down his shaft like she had a grudge. “Hey, hey, slow down.” He implored. It felt good, but, at that pace it was going to be over way, way too soon. She didn’t seem to hear him, so he slid his finger all the way inside her and she stopped moving entirely. “Slow down honey, we got time.” 

There was a knock at the front door. 

Dean, tilted his head to the side to listen, but Jenika didn’t seem to hear it or care. She stroked his shaft with deliberate slowness and rocked her hips against his hand. 

The knock happened again, followed by the doorbell. 

Jenika sighed, annoyed. “I better go get rid of whoever the fuck that is.” She climbed off him, straightened her skirt, tossed her sweater back on sans bra and headed to the front door. 

Dean sat up, in no hurry, and buttoned his pants. As he was pulling his jacket back on he heard an unfamiliar male voice. The way the two talked it didn’t seem like it was her dad, so, after shrugging into the jacket he sauntered into the hall and propped himself in the door frame. 

Jenna led the guy into the house. “I can’t believe I totally forgot you were coming over today.” She spiked Dean a look that told him she had genuinely forgotten about some appointment.

The guy following her was a kid from school. He looked familiar, but, Dean couldn’t put a name to the face. His eyes glanced over to Dean only briefly and then hurriedly back to Jenna. “It’s… it’s okay. I can come back some other day if … if… you’re busy?” 

She shook her head. “No! Seriously, it’s my bad. I really need to pass this stupid test and I am soooo bad at the math on my own. Dean’s cool. He understands. Right Dean?” 

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. I get it. I’ll catch you later.” He pushed off the wall to head for the door. 

“Wait… it’s only an hour. You could, like, just watch some TV or something?” 

Dean shrugged again. “I guess. Not like I have anywhere else pressing to be.” He dropped down on the couch in the living room; which was basically an extension of the dining room and flicked the TV on to MTV. Beavis and Butthead were on so he propped a foot on the coffee table and sat back to enjoy the stupidity. 

Jenna and her tutor sat at the table in the dining room, and went over differentials and formulas. It was clear that she wasn’t getting it, even though her tutor seemed to be explaining everything pretty well. Dean really didn’t get why people found math so hard. It was just puzzle pieces, and once you knew how they fit together they just… did all the work for you. But, Jenna already had a tutor, he wasn’t about to jump in and run his mouth and make the kid’s job harder. About half-way through the hour the phone rang and Jenna went to pick up the wireless extension from the living room. “Okay, okay, okay! Laura, just give me a minute. I gotta go into my room if we’re going to talk.” She put her hand over the receiver and said to her tutor “Like… five minute break? Laura caught Todd talking to Becky S. at the food court, and he was like… practically drooling. She’s having a melt down.”   
  
“Yeah. We can take a break for a bit. We’ll start the rest of the hour when you get back.” 

“Cool. Thanks, B.” And Jenna flounced into the hall and down to her room. 

The tutor pulled a battered paperback out of his backpack and leaned back to read it while he waited. He didn’t seem to think it was going to be a short wait. Dean didn’t either, honestly. He had to wonder if she was worth the wait; he wasn’t even hard anymore. Beavis and Butthead ended and now he was stuck watching this shitty dating show Singled Out. He picked up the remote to channel surf, and glanced over at the tutor kid. 

He was nearly as tall as Dean, with dark eyes and sandy blonde hair that was longer on top, parted in the middle; sort of like DiCaprio. His jaw was square, and had a determined set to it. He held his book one handed, his other resting on his thigh. The book was bright blue and battered but the cover was currently tilted away from him so he couldn’t read the title. 

Dean clicked the TV off and headed over to join the kid at the table. “What’cha readin?” 

As he sat down the kid visibly pulled back into himself, as though he thought Dean were about to get violent. He wondered briefly why everyone seemed to react like that, but let the thought pass without much examination and waited for the kid to respond. “Uh. Catch 22.” He slid a bookmark in place and closed the book, setting it on the table between them. 

“That’s the whole...military dilemma, right? Like… you can get discharged for having a screw loose, but, if you  _ know _ you’re a few bananas short of a bunch then how crazy can you be, really, and they won’t discharge you?” 

“Uh. Yeah. Basically.” He seemed reluctant to elaborate but, clearing his throat, he did continue “It’s kind of an interesting concept to explore especially in the backdrop of World War Two.” 

“So, it’s a war novel?” Dean asked

“Uh, kinda. I mean, the guys are at War, so that’s all happening in the background. But, it’s not about the combat. It’s like… the effect of the combat, I think. I’m not sure. I’m only a few chapters in.” 

“Sounds cool. I just finished reading Starship Troopers. Kinda fun. You read it?” 

“Eh. I’m not super into Sci-Fi. The world is scary enough without adding monsters and aliens and shit to the list of crap I gotta worry about.” 

Dean laughed, a genuine hearty laugh “Yeah? Okay.” He held out his hand to the kid “Hey, I’m Dean. What’s your name?” 

The kid flinched again, but it was less obvious this time. He cautiously took Dean’s hand. His hands were big with wide palms, long fingers, and a good, solid grip but they were soft - with none of Dean’s calluses. He answered cautiously. “Brandon. Uhm. Can I just ask… like… what’s the game here, I don’t get it.” 

Dean shook his head. “Man, I’m just passing time. I watch enough crappy TV on the road.” 

Brandon nodded. “So… why are you asking about the book then?” 

“Dude, I read.” 

“Yeah? Sci-Fi.” Brandon scoffed and pushed his hair back out of his face, clearly feeling superior. 

“Heinlein is  _ classic _ Sci-Fi. He’s got cred. Like Asimov. It’s not like I’m reading some Mercedes Lackey over here. Sure, Heinlein likes to write about hot naked chicks and stuff, but, every book is about some moral dilemma of order and authoritarianism versus freedom and chaos. Sci-Fi is about who we are and where we’re going. It’s not like… Fantasy BS with prancing elves and talking horses and magic swords.” 

Brandon sat back in his chair, and gave Dean a look of open mouthed confusion. 

Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And it’s a lot better than the shit we have to read in school. I swear, if I get told to write an essay on the bullshit symbolism of Lord of the Flies again, I’m going to go postal.” 

After a minute Brandon took a breath and said “I’m sorry. I guess I … you’re sitting here like Darrel Curtis got a pass to the real world or something and I’m just not used to guys like you doing much more than shoving me into a locker.” 

Dean scowled. “Would you even fit in a locker? No, nevermind. I guess I can go if I’m bothering you. Seems like she’s gonna be a while.” 

Brandon lifted a hand to his mouth to chew on his thumbnail, and shook his head. “Nah. It’s… just weird. Not bad weird.” 

Dean flashed Brandon a quick smile. “Alright, then. Load me up - when my dad gets back to town I don't know how long we’ll be on the road and my family doesn’t do the license plate game to pass the time.” 

They talked for the next hour and a half about the books Dean should read on his next road trip; Steinbeck, Keesy, Orwell, Sallanger, Verne. Dean shared all his opinions about Kerouac; how he got so much stuff wrong, probably cause he was high while he was writing… or a douchebag. Brandon tried his best to convince Dean to give Shakespeare another try; suggesting Titus Andronicus, King Lear, and Richard III, and of course, Henry V.    
  
Jenna walked in on Brandon standing in the living room, arms raised dramatically, quoting the St. Crispin’s Day speech, to Dean sitting on the arm of the couch listening with rapt attention.    
  
_ “From this day to the ending of the world, _ __   
_ But we in it shall be rememberèd— _ __   
_ We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; _ __   
_ For he to-day that sheds his blood with me _ __   
_ Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, _ __   
_ This day shall gentle his condition; _ __   
_ And gentlemen in England now a-bed _ __   
_ Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, _ __   
_ And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks _ _   
_ __ That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.” 

Jenna huffed. “What the fuck, guys?” 

Dean lowered his eyes, feeling embarrassed to have been caught enjoying Shakespeare. Brandon dropped his arms to his side and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Dean gave Jenna an awkward smile. “Uh, just passing the time…” His eyes caught the clock on the wall, it was past 8:30 and Bobby was going to be pissed he hadn't even bothered to call. “Aw, crap. I gotta go.” 

“But… Deeeeeaaan.” Jenna started. 

“I’ll catch up with you later. I didn’t know I was gonna be this long and you got math to learn. So…” he gestured to Brandon “Learn something.” 

Brandon had moved quietly back to sit at the table again, and was anxiously fiddling with his pencil. Jenna wrinkled her nose in annoyance as Dean grabbed his pack and left. 


	6. Pick And Roll

Bobby looked up from his spot at the kitchen table and squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re going to a high school basketball game?” 

“Yeah, well, what else am I going to do here Bobby? It’s been a month. You won’t let me go  _ find _ Dad. So, yeah, I’ve gone native. What about it?” 

Bobby put his hands up in front of him to forstall more arguments. “I’m not gonna stop you from going to do a little bit of living while you got the chance.” 

“This is not my life Bobby. I’m a Hunter, that’s my life - and at this rate I’m gonna have to match a corsage and a cumberbund and I only know what one of those is  _ for _ .” Dean huffed in frustration and kicked the door frame. “You aren’t worried about him, Bobby?” 

“Ain't my job to worry about your old man. He’ll be back when he’s done chasing his tail.” Bobby stood up, and crossed the room to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Boy, there ain’t much in a Hunters life but blood and pain. You get a chance to have a little bit of something else - you gotta grab ahold of that.” 

Dean scoffed, and headed for the door. “I guess cheerleaders  _ are _ a good way to pass the time.” 

“Take Sam with you.” Bobby suggested. 

“No way!” Sam shouted from the study across the hall at the same time Dean did. Sam lowered the lore book he was reading and grinned over top of it. Dean couldn’t help but grin back at the little nerd surrounded by all the occult books the little egghead could devour. 

“I’ll be back late,” Dean said as he bounded down the stairs into the early spring evening. He drove back to school at a leisurely pace. The route was familiar so his mind kept drifting to an image that had been stuck in his head for a solid week now. His mind lingered on the memory of a wisp of blonde hair caught among obscenely thick caramel coloured lashes and those coffee colored eyes. With effort he pulled his mind away from the thought. Again.   
  
Instead he focused on Jenna’s familiar curve of cleavage and the way the sweater of her uniform pulled up from the waist so you could see her tummy peek out easily enough. Although, going to a school game of any sort was a new low, cheerleaders really were the best way to pass the time.

He pulled into the parking lot, surprised to find it nearly full. He parked and walked around to the gym doors, following the crowd of teens and parents to a spot mid-way up the bleachers that was dead center, so he had a good view. 

The cheer squad was milling around on the court, some still coming out from the locker room. Mostly the girls, Jenna among them, stood in a clump chatting and laughing. The last of the three male cheerleaders walked up to the bench where the the other two were sitting and dropped his duffle on the floor. He said his hellos and then brushed a lock of blonde hair out of his eyes. Dean held very still as he watched the gesture lift the bottom edge of his sweater to allow just a glimpse of his tummy. He licked his lips thoughtfully as he remembered the first day he’d come to see Jenna at practice. It had been Brandon that she had been talking to as he walked up that day. Realizing that he was staring he dragged his eyes back to Jenna and the girls and tried his best not to think. At all. 

It didn’t work. He’d been thinking about all the books Brandon had suggested, the passion in his voice when he talked about all the subtleties of Shakespeare's lesser known works and had wandered off on a tangent about the Sonnets. It had all seemed like so much chick-flick lovey dovey BS before, but Dean had found himself sat at a corner table in the library yesterday leafing through a ‘Collected Works’ during his free period.

Once the game started and the cheer squad got going it was easier to stay focused on Jenna and the other girls. They were front and center, and very… energetic. Still, he had never before noticed how much work male cheerleaders did, but he found himself impressed. They smiled, kept pace with the girls bouncing, blended into the routines doing occasional acrobatics themselves all while lifting, catching and stabilizing the girls. 

He thought he finally understood why a guy would choose to be a cheerleader. There were some perks. Still, the dichotomy of Brandon’s cheerleading and his tutoring activities struck Dean as at odds with one another. The guy read voraciously, was good enough at math to get paid to tutor it, and was a cheerleader; it was an interesting combination. 

At half-time Jenna, and two of the other girls, started their routine with an acrobatic set of flips and cartwheels to the center of the court and slid down into the splits when they landed. Dean leaned forward, a smile pulling up the corners of his lips as he remembered how she had shown him just how flexible she was in a different context. The girl was bendy. Brandon stepped close to Jenna and offered her a hand and in a whirlwind spin of legs she spun up along the length of his torso until she basically sat on one of his shoulders. Shoulders that were surprisingly broad and well muscled. 

Dean simmered with confusion and did his best to keep his attention on Jenna. She was delicious; and he meant that both figuratively and literally. Her barely contained breasts bounced wildly and her short skirt regularly flipped up flashing the audience. Her outfit was designed to tantalize; he shouldn’t need to make this much effort to focus on her. Instead, he kept finding his eyes drifting back to the intriguing triangle that Brandon’s wide shoulders and narrow waist drew. Or the way the muscles in his thighs were outlined through the tight polyester pants before going into a lift. 

He told himself he was just impressed. Or surprised. Brandon had struck him as scrawny at Jenna’s house but he’d been dressed in loose fitting layers and jeans. He’d just assumed he was gangly and skinny because of the nerdy stuff. And, to be fair… he was skinny; but the shoulders took him by surprise. 

As the game ended and the bleachers emptied Dean remained in his seat. He watched the crowd all move in the same direction while the teams milled about at their benches and the cheer squad split off into smaller groups to chat again. As soon as the majority of the crowd was clumped around the doors Dean headed down to greet Jenna. She was excited to see him, or was still riding the adrenaline from the performance, because she threw herself at him and wrapped her legs around his waist to kiss him. After kissing him she slid down his body and bounced away saying “I need a shower, and then we’re gonna go do something fun. Because I’m totally hyped and we gotta go DO something.” 

Dean chuckled “Alright, are you going to be long?” 

Jenna laughed “I’ll be quick. I promise, don’t bail.” Jenna took off after the other girls who were headed toward the changing room. 

Dean shrugged. “Sure.” He glanced at the crowd of people clumped at the doors. They didn’t seem to be going anywhere fast as they were moving in a ‘calm and orderly manner’ out the door on their way out to the parking lot. He turned around to head back to the bleachers and was surprised to see Brandon was sitting on a bench hunched over a book. Dean’s brows furrowed as he saw where he had been hiding those shoulders earlier this week; it was a neat trick. Brandon sat with his shoulders slumped forward making them look narrower and himself shorter than he actually was. 

Dean took a few strides over and plopped unceremoniously down next to him. “What’cha reading today?” 

Brandon’s head shot up and he jumped sideways on the bench by almost a foot. He held the book between the two of them like a shield; his breath coming short and fast. There was genuine terror in his eyes.

“Woah, woah, woah…” Dean held his hands up at his sides. “Didn't mean to startle you there.” 

Brandon swallowed hard and made a visible effort to calm himself. He set the book slowly down on the bench between them, cover side up; The Cat Who Walks Through Walls. Then, after a moment, he blinked at Dean in confusion “Uh. Sorry… I uhm? What?” 

“No problem man. It’s a good book.” Dean flashed a warm smile, feeling bad for having sat down so abruptly. “Seems like you’re into it, though.” 

Brandon blinked owlishly, staring at Dean as though he might not be real. Or worse. “What?” He said again, but then, before Dean could answer he continued, his voice shaky and confused. “Oh, the book… it’s one you’ve read?” 

“Yeah. Some of it gets a little rambly, but Heinlein can be like that.” 

Brandon nodded and his eyes darted to the doors, to all the doors; the exit to the parking lot and the doors to the school and changing rooms. “Uh. Yeah… a little… rambly.” 

“Man, are you okay?” Dean asked leaning forward in concern. 

Brandon finally took a deep steadying breath and squared his shoulders. “I uh, didn’t realize you were here… and didn’t… uh. I wasn’t paying attention like I should have been. What are you doing here?” 

“Jenna wanted me to see the routine. She wants to go out.” 

Brandon nodded. “Ah. That makes more sense.” 

Dean very nearly asked what he meant by ‘more’ sense, but, Brandon was rattled so he let it go. “I didn’t realize you were… er, on the team.” 

“Yeah. I’m super manly so I can see how it would be a surprise.” 

The sarcasm in Brandon’s voice made Dean laugh. “Well, seems like it’s got it’s perks. Full access.” 

“Uh… yeah. Sure.” Brandon was less nervous now, but his eyes kept moving, as though he were on look out for something. It reminded Dean of how he felt when he was on a Hunt, but, there was nothing dangerous in this school. Nothing here at the game either. 

Dean wanted to ask about it, but, got the sense that if he did it would only make things worse. He rested his forearms on his thighs and turned his attention away from Brandon to the slowly thinning crowd near the door. “I’ve been reading Catch 22.” He said 

“Oh.” Brandon’s voice tried hard for neutrality. 

“Yeah. It’s a strange book.” Dean was unsure what he was doing here. When he’d seen Brandon sitting here he’d been excited for the chance to get to talk to him again, but it didn’t seem like Brandon felt the same way. It had been a whole school week since that day at Jenna’s and he hadn’t even seen Brandon since then, but he’d picked up Catch 22, he’d read Shakespeare, and he couldn’t get that little wisp of hair out of his mind. 

“... yeah.” Brandon agreed and he seemed to debate what to do next. He chewed on his thumbnail and swallowed nervously. 

Dean glanced sideways at him. “Jenna’s got some family thing tomorrow. You want to grab a pizza and talk about weird ass books?” 

Brandon stared at Dean for a long moment. Those dark chocolate eyes swam with a torrent of emotions, but eventually he nodded. “Uhm, yeah. Tomorrow?” 

“Yeah. There’s this dive of a pizza place I found. All of the tables wobble and the wallpaper is peeling, and I think it might be a mob front, but god love ‘em they can make a pizza. Tony’s.” 

Brandon blinked in bewilderment. “On 12th? I know it.” 

“Yeah. That’s the place. I have some stuff to do tomorrow morning, but could be there by 1 or so.” 

By now the crowds had pretty much cleared out and Jenna came bounding across the Gym with the rest of the girls. They were all showered and preened. Jenna was wearing a short pleated skirt and shirt with a heart shaped cut out over her chest. Her jacket was on, but unbuttoned and her hair was down out of the braid it had been in. Dean grinned at her as she approached. He stood as she got close and she stepped into his arms to give him a short but very wet kiss. 

After the kiss she seemed to notice Brandon. “Oh! Thanks for keeping Dean company again B.” 

Brandon’s cheeks flushed pink, and those dark eyes fluttered over Dean’s face and then down at the ground. “Sure, Jenna. I was waiting for my dad to pick me up, so it’s no big deal.” 

Dean wrapped an arm around Jenna and asked her “Where are we off to?” She told him where ‘the gang’ was planning to go after the game. Before turning to leave Dean looked back to Brandon “Tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow?” Jenna asked “Is B gonna tutor you, so you can like… pass any of your classes?” 

Brandon nodded stiffly, his shoulders were already sagging back into their slump. “Yeah. Tutoring… tomorrow at 1.” 

Dean gave Brandon a slight scowl before deciding, once more, not to argue the point. As he left with Jenna he fought the urge to look back over his shoulder at Brandon. Something was off with him, but, now wasn’t the time to push him about it. The after party wasn’t some Hollywood fiction; Sure… pop music blared from the stereo loud enough to wake the dead and the beer was free flowing - in cans, not from a keg - but there was no dance floor. No teen drama. Just… 8 couples who had found a quiet place to make out or have sex. 

He was glad that Jenna had drawn a hard line in the sand because by 11 she was so drunk she was barely awake. He poured her into his borrowed junker, drove her back home and helped her unlock the front door before he headed back to Bobby’s.

Bobby was, of course, still up when he returned. His feet were propped on his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand while he paged through a thick old tome. “Midnight is late now?” 

“Eat me.” Dean said without malice and went to grab a bottle of beer from the fridge. He plopped down on the couch and propped his foot on the stack of books on the floor in front of him. 

Bobby eyed the beer in his hand, his expression disapproving. However, when he spoke he simply grumped “Feet off the books boy.” 

Dean dropped his foot to the ground with an audible thunk then set the unopened beer on the table with a half-hearted glare. 

“No cheerleader tonight?” Bobby asked. 

“We hung out for a while. Then she drank her third beer and pretty much passed out. What are you workin on?” 

“Hunter in Des Moines is up against what he thinks is a vengeful spirit. Little girl keeps popping up, wreaking havoc. She’s killed three people so far, but no one knows who she is and everyone who sees her gives a different description. Something just ain’t sittin’ right with me about it.” 

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. No name meant they couldn’t dig up bones, no bones to burn meant the spirit was free to do what spirits did.., so that sucked. He took another pull from his beer and sat in silence as Bobby went back to his reading. 

Bobby looked up about 10 minutes later and set his book aside “You got somethin’ on your mind?” 

“Nah.” Dean started. 

“Okay, so, you’re just sitting here watching me read hoping your pretty face is gonna inspire me?” Bobby joked. 

“Can you take Sam shopping tomorrow? He’s got some project he needs supplies for, and I told him I’d take him, but I got plans tomorrow now.” 

“I thought the cheerleader had family stuff to do tomorrow?” 

“No, not like that. Jenna’s fine and all, but it’s not like we’ve got a lot to talk about. Gonna grab a pizza and hang with this guy I met.”

“Awww. Did you make a friend?” Bobby smirked and took a swig of his whiskey. 

“Shut up.” He took a final swig of beer and set the bottle on the table, before storming out of the room. 


	7. Thirsty and Miserable

Dean parked the Trans Am across from Tony’s Pizzeria. He was early. He turned the engine off and sat with his hands on the wheel. Brandon had seemed pretty freaked out at the game last night, so, maybe he wouldn’t even show. And that would be fine. Dean would get pizza, read a little, it would be  _ totally _ fine. He took a deep breath and said aloud “Look, this is nothing. You are Dean frickin’ Winchester, you kill werewolves and ghosts and save people’s lives. This is nothing. You’re just… going to hang out and eat pizza and whatever. It’s nothing.” 

Opening the door he hurried across the street and into the Pizzeria. As usual it was empty and the guy who sat behind the counter gave him a sour look. Dean smiled at him cheekily in response and went up to order; large deep dish Meat Lovers Supreme and a fountain drink. He debated getting a second cup but decided that was too weird. Instead he dropped into his usual booth at the back of the restaurant, sat so he could see the door, and took his book out of his pocket while he waited for his food to arrive. 

Reminding himself that he was early Dean tried to focus on his book. He read for a while before the pizza arrived. When it did the guy from behind the counter brought it out to the table like a martyr carrying his own cross and dropped the pan on the table like a brick. Normally Dean made a joke to see if he could get a reaction out of this guy, but today he was too focused on resisting the urge to check his watch. He did it anyway; it was already ten after one. Somehow it was calming to know Brandon wasn’t coming. Dean wolfed down his first two slices, then picked his book up to read and eat more slowly. When the bell over the door jangled he glanced up out of habit, not expecting to see Brandon.

The door was swinging closed behind him while he looked around at the deserted dining area. He wore cherry red doc martens, ripped jeans, a Black Flag T, a flannel shirt tied around his waist and a battered old jean jacket covered in patches. The most surprising thing though were the Buddy Holly style glasses he wore. Dean set his book down, propped like a tent, and watched Brandon walk across the room and drop into the booth across from him. It wasn’t like he expected Brandon to show up in his uniform but the jacket was different than the North Face parka he wore to Jenna’s and the boots were an interesting choice. He tilted his head to the side and waited a moment before he said “Halloween’s not for like 8 months, you know?” 

Brandon’s mouth thinned and he started to get up. “Fuck you. I knew this was a bad idea.” 

“Dude, C’mon. It just wasn’t what I was expecting.” Dean started to reach out to stop him but hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it wasn’t anger. 

Brandon’s expression was stony and suspicious. “Yeah? You were expecting pom poms, then?” 

Dean nudged the pizza pan toward Brandon. “I dunno. Not Black Flag, I guess. Pizza?” 

Brandon remained still, his hands balled in fists at his sides. “I get so fucking tired of people making assumptions.” 

Dean grabbed a fourth slice of pizza and sprawled in the booth, arm tossed over the back of the bench. He spoke around the bite of pizza, “You walk in here like punk-rock Clark Kent and act like it’s weird I’m surprised. You like screwing with people’s heads.” 

“Both things can be true. I  _ do _ get tired of people’s assumptions.” 

“What assumptions, man? You’re a cheerleader and a frickin’ Mathlete. That was interesting enough, but here you are wearing Black Flag?” 

“You don’t know anything about me,” Brandon ground out. 

That was true, Dean didn’t know anything about him. He resisted the urge to do a background check or ask around. So, with a playful glint in his eye Dean replied, “And you don’t know anything about me. That’s kinda the point though. We sit. We talk. There’s pizza. Are we talking Morris or Rollins era here?” 

“Okay, so, first of all - it’s not like it became a different band after Morris left. Dude helped form the band but that band is Ginn’s baby, everyone else is just window dressing. His guitar work is…” Brandon stopped mid rant with narrowed eyes. “Cute. You know your history.” 

Shrugging he stood and pushed past Brandon, walked to the counter and dropped a bill next to the register. The guy behind the counter dropped his gaze only slightly but said nothing so Dean reached over the till to grab a red plastic soda cup. He walked back to Brandon and pushed the cup into his hand and sat back down. “C’mon man. Get a drink… I promise this isn’t your last chance to be pissed off at me.” 

Brandon looked at the cup in his hand and after a moment of internal debate seemed to decide something. He filled the cup then settled in across from Dean, this time with less acrimony, then grabbed two slices and dug in. 

They sat in silence until half way through Brandon’s second slice Dean asked “So… what’s got you all hot and bothered?” 

Brandon coughed around the bite of pizza in his mouth, and grabbed for his drink. Eventually he answered. “Nothing. I just… it’s nothing.” 

“Sure. You roll up in here dressed like that. You’re already mad at me. I mean… I figure I’ll give you plenty to  _ be  _ mad at me about eventually, but you’re pre-loaded. So… what is up man?” 

“I don’t have a lot of luck with… people. They… don’t usually want to hang out. Unless there’s like… a reason.” 

“Yeah?” Dean asked, confused. He gave it a moment of thought and then said “No. Not getting it.” 

Brandon dusted his hands free of semolina and looked around the empty restaurant. “This kind of thing is usually a setup for a prank or something.” 

Dean scowled. He felt a sudden, undirected deep need to do violence. He took a moment to let the urge pass before he spoke though. Leaning forward, his forearms on the table, he said “Yeah, people can be assholes. You get invited to pizza restaurants to get punked a lot though?”

Brandon’s face was closed. Dean couldn’t get a read on him as he said “Not pizza. But parties. Tryouts. Games. Clubs. Basically… every invitation I’ve had to any social event in the last four years has been some kind of prank or another.” 

Dean’s brows shot up “And you still go?” 

“My dad always knows where I’m going and who is supposed to be there. He knows who to call if I don’t come home when I’m supposed to.” 

“Wow. That’s bullshit. Why?” 

Brandon shrugged, his expression still shuttered. 

It was obvious Brandon knew why. Or, at least had a good idea, but Dean didn’t press the issue; for now it just added a little mystery. Instead he decided to change subject. “How’s your slice?” 

Brandon looked down at his pizza and gave it some consideration “It’s pretty good. Needs onions and olives.” 

“That is what I said.” Dean said in a stage whisper. Then, over his shoulder, he said loudly “Hear that Guido? Needs olive and onions.” 

The guy at the counter made a soft harumph, but didn’t respond. 

Dean continued with a smirk “Too bad the Feds are gonna be in next week to clear out this front. Pizza’s damned good but the books are crooked.” 

The guy behind the counter stood up and simply said: “ **Out** .” It wasn’t a shout, but his voice resonated off the windows and tile floor. 

Brandon’s expression cracked into an amused half smile when Dean grabbed the remaining two slices and tilted his head toward the door. After both boys bolted to the door and were on the sidewalk in front of the neighboring storefront Brandon asked “Are they really a mob front?” 

Dean had his theories about the place, but they didn’t involve the mob. The pizza really was that good. “Nah.” Dean said and shoved another slice into Brandon’s hands. “It’s just so much fun to tease poor Don in there.” 

“Don?” Brandon asked before inhaling the slice

“Oh, yeah, his name is Don Pontrelli. His dad was Anthony Pontrelli - Tony. He’s been running the place since his dad died. It’s sweet, in a cranky old man kind of way. The pizza is really good - Don just doesn’t have his dad’s flare. I’ve been coming to Tony’s since I was a kid.”

Brandon looked Dean over thoughtfully “I thought you were new in town, I didn’t realize you grew up here.” 

Dean shook his head and started walking down the street. It was spring, but, in Sioux Falls that still meant it was chilly outside. “Nah. We travel around a lot… so, whenever we hit the same place twice it’s nice to hit someplace familiar.” 

“We?” Brandon kept up with Dean’s long strides easily. 

“My brother, my dad and me.” He didn’t really want to get into the whole thing. He had this itch in the back of his skull not to lie to Brandon so he changed the subject quickly “Pool? You play pool at all?” 

“Uh… no?” Brandon replied

Dean smirked and turned the next corner, heading now to a specific destination. “Oh, well, then let’s fix that. Guy like you needs to know how to play pool.” 

Brandon’s expression had turned suspicious again, but he kept pace with Dean until they reached the door of a small hole-in-the-wall bar and Dean started to open the door. “Wait. What are you doing?” 

Dean stepped back and looked at Brandon “Going to play some pool.” 

“That’s a bar.” Brandon said urgently. 

Dean sighed deeply and grabbed Brandon’s arm. He dragged him half a block down the street and said “Yes. But we’re just going to play some pool. And no one will notice if you’re just… cool. Okay?” 

“They aren’t going to card us?” 

“Seriously? What if they do? They’ll kick us out? Call our parents? For playing pool? C’mon.” 

Brandon’s lips thinned as he seemed to be considering the outcomes.

“Dude. What would Rollins do?” 

“Fine. But I am not taking the blame for this.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and strode back toward the bar. He was nervous. He hadn’t actually been in a bar, even just to play pool, without his Dad before. He told himself that it would be fine as long as he looked like he knew what he was doing. Brandon followed, looking less out of place than Dean feared he would. Dean grabbed a pair of pool cues and handed one to Brandon, chalked his tip and then racked up the first round. “So, look…” he started “Pool is all about angles. It’s math in action. Geometry and physics, mostly.” 

Brandon seemed doubtful as Dean gave him a quick walk-through of the basic rules of 8 ball. He demonstrated a break and talked through the shots he was taking and he watched as Brandon’s interest grew and his expression opened up. When it was Brandon’s shot Dean stood back at first, then he gave advice on the angle of the shot. 

By their second game Dean stepped in close behind Brandon to correct his finger grip on the cue. Brandon looked up at him with those deep brown eyes, half hidden behind lusciously thick lashes, and Dean’s heart jumped into his throat. He stuttered and backed away quickly, knocking into a chair at a nearby empty table. Brandon laughed and suddenly Dean’s head felt light so he crossed his arms over his chest and did his best impression of Bobby as he said “Alright, so take the damned shot.” 

It was a nice, clean break and Brandon did pretty well for his second game ever. While they played conversation got easier. Dean learned a little more about the pranks he had been subjected to; nothing overtly threatening or dangerous, but a lot of embarrassing situations or intentional misunderstandings. It still seemed like Brandon knew why he was the target of such regular cruelty, but, Dean couldn’t get his head around it. He was smart, funny, athletic, interesting and attractive. By all rights he should be right in with the in crowd. High school kids were baffling. 

After the third game Brandon checked his watch. “My dad is expecting to pick me up at Tony’s in like 10 minutes. We should go.” 

Dean agreed and the two of them headed back to Tony’s. On the way they continued their lengthy debate about the contributions of the Ramones to the Punk scene and Rock in general. A few minutes after they got back to Tony’s a sleek blue sedan pulled up to the curb and Brandon headed over to get into the passenger side. Before he sat down Brandon paused “We should… do this again sometime. Hang out.” 

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Call me.” 


	8. Dream On

Dean winced as the hot water hit his shoulders. He stepped out of the spray and adjusted the temperature. He always forgot that Bobby’s water-heater was set to burn the first layer of flesh off. The elder hunter probably had his reasons, but if you asked Dean it was a little much. Once the water had cooled down he ducked his head under the spray and found himself being thankful that the shower was tall enough for a grown man. The shower heads in their usual crappy motel rooms were at about eye level now and it just sucked. He just stood under the spray of the almost too hot water for a long while.

It was 3 AM and Sam was asleep on the top bunk, all tucked in and sleeping soundly. Dean had woken up unexpectedly and first gone downstairs to sack out on the couch for the rest of the night, but, Bobby was passed out with a bottle of cheap whiskey and an ancient Sumerian text he was trying to translate. As usual the only place to get any privacy in Bobby’s place was the bathroom - he was just thankful the lock on the door worked. 

His dreams were normally pretty vivid which was enjoyable, especially when it came to the erotic ones. This last one had been so intense it had woken him up and just thinking about it was making him hard again. Which was weird, he thought, because he _ liked girls. _

Over the past few weeks Dean and Brandon had spent an increasing amount of time together. Brandon's schedule was packed with activities; debate, cheer-leading, tutoring and his own homework in the evenings so finding time was a challenge. Dean ended up attending a lot more Basketball games and spent a lot more time in the library than he would have normally. 

He continued to see Jenna even though he was thoroughly bored by her by now. Spending time with her was like standing in a kiddie pool on a hot day. Sure, it cooled you off at first, but after a while all it did was make you wish it was deeper. The more time he spent with Brandon the worse his irritation with Jenna - and her friends - got, too. And, while he enjoyed the vigor with which Jenna pursued her sexual explorations he was often bored with the events leading up to those times; parties with crappy music and boring people. 

At the start of this week he’d jumped through the hoops to swap his lunch period and study hall period, just to avoid having to deal with the group of jocks and cheerleaders she always ate with. Especially Josh, who was constantly doing everything he could to try to get Jenna’s attention. That had been his main motivation, he told himself, but as a side benefit he had the same lunch period as Brandon. 

Jenna had asked what happened and Dean had lied to her about getting kicked out of his study hall period with such automatic ease he hadn’t realized he’d done it until later. Meanwhile, when Brandon had asked he just explained about Josh and Brandon had laughed. It was always nice get a laugh out of the guy. He had started to relax around Dean, but at school he was still so quiet and guarded. 

Actually, it made a little more sense now that he’d gotten to know Brandon better. He’d been bullied for a while, mostly by Josh and a few of the other football jocks. They’d been friends in grade school… until they weren’t. So, now Brandon did his best to just stay out of Josh’s way.

Dean couldn’t understand it. Brandon was smart, funny, and handsome - but he didn’t have a girlfriend or, it seemed like, any friends really. He wasn’t totally shunned; the cheer-leading squad loved having him around and he was mostly relaxed around them - and yet, despite being single none of the girls flirted with him even a little as far as he could tell. And that was a shame - because just look at him! For a nerd he was pretty stacked. His arms alone were just corded with muscle. Dean kept finding himself thinking about Brandon’s hands with their wide palms and long, deft fingers. To say nothing of his eyes… 

He liked GIRLS, Dean reminded himself. Girls. With breasts. He liked sex with girls. 

And yet for over a week now, he kept dreaming about Brandon. Those hands sliding over his shoulders, down his back to his waist… pulling him close. Dean swallowed a groan as he remembered the vivid sensation of looking into those bottomless dark eyes and just _ wanting _ for an endless moment. In the way of dreams the very next moment they were both shirtless and laying in the back seat of the Impala, grinding into each other, and desperately kissing and touching each other all over. That’s usually when he woke up - with the taste of another boy in his mouth and a massive hard-on. 

He stepped forward and rested his forehead against the wall, giving in to the desire to touch himself. He bit back a groan as he stroked his cock, slowly at first, while the images of the dream were still fresh in his mind. Biting back a groan he moved his hand faster while his breath quickened. Fleetingly he wondered what Brandon’s mouth actually tasted like and then, like dominoes falling, he wondered what his neck tasted like and if he preferred his nipples licked or bitten. 

Dean liked a little bit of teeth, but not too much, when it came to his nipples. And now he was imagining what it would be like to have Brandon’s teeth scraping down over his chest, hooking a nipple and tugging just… so…. very… gently. His knees buckled a bit at that thought and his free hand shot out to grab the edge of the claw-foot tub as he started to cum. His hips flexed forward and all the muscles of his shoulder and back tensed as ejaculate shot out into the spray of water and washed down the drain. It took Dean a full minute to get his bearings and catch his breath. 

When he had he spent a few minutes actually showering, then wrapped a towel around his waist and caught a glimpse of himself in the fogged mirror. He swiped his hand across the mirror to see himself better and examined his face. He looked the same as he always had; a little too old for his age, a little too smug and that hardness behind his eyes that he couldn’t seem to hide no matter how hard he worked to seem carefree. He didn’t _ look _ gay. 

Fantasizing about girls seemed like second nature - he honestly couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been salivating about girls, whether in person or in porn. He’d grown up watching his father do it, seeing it on TV and in books. It was just how guys behaved. For a moment he considered whether it was just another thing he was doing to try to live up to his dad’s expectations. Then he thought about the warm, soft weight of a breast in his hand and the slick warm wetness of sliding inside of an aroused woman, he thought about the high pitched little gasping moans they made when you touched them just right. Yeah… he definitely liked women. 

And if he still liked girls, and nothing had changed... why was he fantasizing about another guy? 


End file.
